


His ***** abandoned. Look for HIS 2.0!

by Motherof4dragons



Category: The Rookie (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Politics, Best Friends, F/M, Secret Relationship, brothers best friend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:49:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23440468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Motherof4dragons/pseuds/Motherof4dragons
Summary: LucyTo say that my family is traditional would be an understatement, so I knew when I got pregnant unexpectedly with no husband in sight, they weren’t going to take it well. My brother Jackson, the only one who ever has my back, asked his best friend Tim to be there when we broke the news, hoping an outsider would temper their reactions. It. Did. Not. It went about as bad as I could imagine until Tim saved the day. Now I have a baby daddy, and a not so fake fiancee to boot. Nothing can go wrong living in a make-believe relationship with the boy I’ve loved since I was eight. Nothing at all.TimI went that night to give Lucy my support, not to almost punch her father and claim her as my own. I did though. The minute I saw the chance, I claimed Lucy and her baby as mine. I don’t plan on giving them back.
Relationships: Tim Bradford & Lucy Chen, Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen
Comments: 81
Kudos: 132





	1. The claim

**Author's Note:**

> Hey All! I know we've talked about how this fandom doesn't have enough AU in it. So here we go! The plan is to update once a week and yes, I have most of it already written.
> 
> This work is HEAVILY inspired by She Used to Be Mine, written by Sara Bareilles, as sung by Jeremy Jordan. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=chkOkcEFGM0&list=PL5ilqZbSC8riVPB_rnaNGRaHQs4CNhHC-&index=2

[](https://500px.com/photo/1013346449/A-Chenford-Fic-by-Amanda-Campbell)   


Lucy

  
  
  


"I am. I'm the father. The baby's mine."

Silence. Blessed peace follows the unexpected statement from my brother's best friend. The earth herself pauses in its rotation while my collective family holds their breath, waiting for the information to process.

Then pandemonium breaks loose.

I should be involved in the arguments taking place. After all, it's the paternity of _my_ unborn child that they're discussing. I can't, though. I'm too busy rewinding the last three months of my life to see if I've possibly slept with Tim and not realized it. 

No. I don't think I did.

I take in the room, doing as I've done since I was a child. Taking in the madness from the safety of the outside. 

My brother Jackson, who knows damn well that this child is _not_ Tim’s, has a calculating expression on his face. His eyes quickly flicker between Tim and me, formulating and discarding plans of attack in rapid succession. Jackson is a politician, born and bred. It's what he's been trained to do since birth. Analyze a situation and find the best possible outcome. 

My older sister Angela is with her husband Wes in the corner, conversing in rapid but quiet tones. I can't understand what they're saying, but the tone is clear enough. As Jackson's campaign manager for the House of Representatives, it'll be her job to sell this to the public. _This_ , as in my ill-begotten pregnancy.

Tim is nose to nose with my father. I try to focus on what they are saying, but words have become fuzzy in my ears. I pull a trick of serenity from the lockbox in my head. I close my eyes, picturing a big blue space of nothingness. It's not _just_ blue. Shades are ranging from the deepest night to the brightest sunrise. I count backward from ten, allowing the numbers to fill the space in my mind. Willing my body to calmness. I make it to three before the numbers shatter. Cracks in my psyche are breaking it into pieces.

A wave of nausea flows over me, and I reach behind me, feeling for the chair I know is there. When I'm sure of my placement, I let my knees go weak, and limply slide into the seat. 

My hands rest on my knees while my head dangles over my legs. I let the oxygen saturate my blood cells, inhaling through my nose, and exhaling through my mouth. This, too, shall pass. Difficult roads lead to beautiful destinations. A hundred different platitudes drift in and out of my brain, each of them less helpful than the last. 

How did I get into this situation? I know the mechanics. Girl meets boy. Girl kisses boy. Girl, let's boy ride bareback because she's on the pill, forgetting that she finished a round of antibiotics two weeks ago, and her birth control probably isn't working yet. The girl tries to call the boy only to find out he gave her a fake number.

It's an all too familiar story. Frankly, half of my social worker cases started a similar way. 

What I'm trying to figure out is how did I get _here_ ? What steps took me to the place where my _secret_ crush, my _unrequited_ desire, the boy I've been _clandestinely_ in love with since the third grade is currently telling anyone who will listen that _I_ am carrying _his_ child? 

You may wonder why this sort of announcement is causing such a ruckus. It's the twenty-first century, after all. Women have babies out of wedlock more than they have them in it.

Well, that may be true. But not in my family. I'm Lucy West. Yes, _that_ Lucy West. The second child and only daughter of _The_ Walnut Grove West’s. Our obscure corner of the mountains has produced two presidents, three senators, a vice president, and too many random political offices to count.

If you're not a politician, then you're a politician's wife. Or campaign manager. Or maybe you run a non-profit that your closest politician uses as camera bait. Still, the point stands.

All except for me. It was apparent from a young age that I didn't have the constitution for _public service._ (Read, quick-witted, and able to pivot on your feet.) Instead of going into an approved profession designed to help my brother, however, I shamed the family legacy by becoming a social worker. 

Isn't social work a public service you ask? Why, yes, it is. Thank you. But, it's not one easily used to gain voter turnout. I can't have a camera following me at work waiting for the perfect photo op. 

My mother's voice floats into my ears, and when I hear her huff, "This is just like the Palins all over again," I almost eke out a laugh. Almost. Only my mother would equate me, a college-educated independent woman, with an unmarried teenager.

I can feel motion beside me and open my eyes to see the feet of my brother. I don't flinch away when I feel his hand land lightly on my back. I'm okay with physical affection, but not when I'm having 'a moment,' as my family calls it. When I lean into his touch, he starts to rub firm circles into my spine, easing some of the tension building there. 

"You don't have _any_ control over what she does, David."

I peek up from my hiding spot when I hear Tim lash out at my father. Tim moved to our town when he was ten years old. He and my brother have been fast friends ever since. I left for college and never moved back into the house, so Tim has been more of a staple in these halls than I have. It's one of the reasons Jackson asked him to come tonight. That, and we _hoped_ that with a nonfamily member present, our parent's reaction might temper at least a little bit. We were wrong.

Still, though, that doesn't explain why Tim decided to announce that he was the father. I understand that he was trying to lessen the pressure on me. I even appreciate the gesture. But he's got to know that as soon as they realize it's not his, and of course, they _are_ going to, it's just going to be that much worse. Then, not only will I have disgraced myself by getting pregnant, but I'll have pulled Tim into my shame by lying for me. 

I zone back out, letting my thoughts wander where they will. It's odd, seeing Tim so worked up. He's a pediatrician. He has two modes; happy, and adorable. Not this raging hulk of a man I see before me. Nobody talks to daddy like that. No one. My father is a marine and a two-time vice president. Third youngest vice ever elected. Yet, I've never seen him this worked up. If I thought it was because he cared about me, I might feel gratification to see such a fire lit underneath him in my defense.

Another flood of sickness crashes into me, and I must make some move, some sound of distress. Suddenly Jackson drops to his heels next to me, pushing my hair out of my face.

"Tim," he barks, and the air pressure changes immediately. Tim is like a hurricane. The eye of the storm. And he's striding towards me, shoving my father out of his way. 

Tim lowers to one knee in front of me, taking my head into both of his hands. It's the closest we've been since my senior prom. Maybe the closest we've ever been. His face is mere inches from mine.

I feel weak at his touch. Palpitations burst through my chest, and I try to convince myself it's from the morning sickness. At seven o'clock at night.

"Lu Lu," Tim questions breathlessly, and another piece of my wall crumbles around me. He's the only person who ever called me that. My parents thought nicknames were below our class, whatever that means. But always, _always,_ I've been his Lu Lu.

Without taking his thumb off my cheek, he pushes two fingers into the pulse point on my neck. His head moves imperceptibly as if he's listening for something the rest of us can't hear. Satisfied with whatever he's heard, he whispers, "What's wrong princess, tell me what hurts?"

I'm sure he says that to all the girls. _Literally_. Every girl under the age of thirteen has probably had those exact words whispered in her ear when they feel at their worst. I can't stop the shudder that runs through me at his tone, though. Deep, possessive. Almost Sensual. 

I make the mistake of looking him in the eye. Blue, but like the abyss in my mind, they flex and blur depending on his mood. His mind must be as twisted as my own because his eyes can't seem to settle on a color. There's a storm of emotion billowing behind them. 

At this distance, I notice things I only get to glance in passing—the way his three-day-old stubble covers his chin but naturally fades away from his lips. The widow's peak, bleeding into an otherwise full head of light brown hair. The piercings in his ear that I know he won't let close. Even though it's uncouth for a pediatrician to wear earrings—his words, not mine.

I feel more than see a crowd form around us and break eye contact with Tim to look over his shoulder. Everyone has formed a half-circle around me and the two men kneeling at my feet. My father and mother. Jackson’s husband, Sterling, who happens to be my favorite person on the planet. Angela and her husband Wes. Uncle John and his wife Grace. Grace gives me an encouraging wink. 

My heart kicks up again, the pressure of this many people crowding around me elevating my tension levels. My stomach heaves, and I close my eyes, counting in my breaths as I go. 

A vast blue blankness. Tranquility washes over me. The numbers hover in my mind. Ten, nine, eight—.

"So son, before I call your parents, tell me; are you going to do the right thing here and marry my daughter?"

My father's drawl is sharp, a sure indicator of his distress. Tim doesn't even hesitate.

"Yes, sir, if she'll have me."

Before I have a chance to react, my stomach lurches for a final time, and I'm bending over the side of the chair, vomiting spectacularly into my mother's potted chestnut tree.

  
  
  



	2. The claim part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim only went there to help. Not to make matters worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for giving this a shot. I know it's a little left field for this fandom, and I appreciate you taking the time to read it. I know I said I was going to post once a week, but I needed a break from the story I was working on. I hope this pulls you in more.

Chapter 2

Tim

  
  


_One hour before_

  
  


"Thanks for coming tonight."

I pull my head away from my phone and smile when Jackson hands me the tumbler of whiskey. This is supposed to be a typical family dinner, but my internal combustion pressure has been rising since about noon yesterday. In other words, since Jackson called me and told me Lulu needed an army of two. 

"Of course." 

We clink our glasses together and watch as various relatives flitter in and out of the space. The West family home is large and airy, a monument to American architecture, built back in the 1890s. We're in the parlor or reading room, or whatever space you call where you hang out when you're waiting to go to dinner. Because that's the type of family, they are. They still _go in_ to dinner. It's not that bad if you've grown up with it. Which, for all intents and purposes, I have. My parents left the hustle and bustle of New York before I was a teenager to let my siblings and me grow up in a more grounded reality. You can't get much more down to earth than the backwoods of the Georgia mountains.

Not that the West clan is a shining example of reality. Not at all. If they had a firmer grip of what it meant to be a modern family, Lucy and Jackson wouldn't have had to call a town hall with reinforcements to announce that she's pregnant. 

Pregnant. I've known my baby girl is _all_ woman for quite some time. _Trust me._ The twitching in my jeans has made it painfully evident that she isn't the shy little duckling I knew in our childhood. But thinking of her as a mother, with a baby of her own? It did something to me, plain and simple.

I've thought of little else since Jackson told me.

"What's the plan of attack," I ask my friend, turning my back to the other conversations. I make sure to keep Lucy in my peripheral vision. She's a glorious sight, in a yellow sundress with her brown hair tumbling loosely around her shoulders. I can see the pregnancy hormones running through her. Her cheeks are flushed, her hips and breasts more pronounced. Always a soft woman, today she's blooming under the light filtering in through the curtains. She's also a nervous wreck. Not that anyone besides Jackson and me would pick up on it.

Her family has spent a lifetime ignoring her. When it became evident that Lucy wasn't going to march to anyone's drum but her own, her family quickly dismissed her. What they saw as a weakness, I understood as strength. A character trait sorely missing in her tribe. Not that her siblings aren't good people. They are, both of them. Jackson, he's the greatest man I know. Just, for the most part, he falls into line. It never occurred to him to be anything other than what they expected him to be. 

"Lucy says she's got it handled. We're just here on an emergency basis. I thought it would be easier on her, knowing that she has friends in her corner."

I bring the tumbler to my lips again, but barely register as the exquisite liquid burns its way down my throat. The whole thing makes me so mad. She shouldn't need a support team for something as simple as telling her parents about her baby. It should be a cause for celebration, not a reason to strategize. As much as I love and admire this family, I'll never understand the way they treat each other—the way they treat _her._

"What I don't understand is why she chose _now,_ of all times, to tell them. Wouldn't it have been better one on one?" They have these family dinners once a month. 

Jackson swallows the rest of his shot down in one go, then walks the three feet to the decanters and fills it higher than before. I decline the top off when offered, and he closes the distance between us again.

"That was my idea. I thought pops would have a calmer reaction if they had an audience to play for."

"Ahh," is all I can think to reply. Unfortunately, he's probably right.

The far door opens and in walks their mother. She's a picture of loveliness, not a strand of hair out of place. When I was a kid, I was fascinated by how perfect Mrs. West looked, no matter the hour. Even at three a.m telling us to shut the hell up, her hair was always tucked at the top of her neck. Her silk robe perfectly tied at the waist. Now I wonder how exhausting that must be—the need to be picture perfect at any hour of the day. My own mother, bless her, is a mess until at _least_ her third cup of coffee.

Lucy glances our direction, and we both nod, giving her all the support we can lend her from across a crowded room. It's now, or never her face seems to read. Jackson opens his throat and swallows back the rest of his whiskey. The action makes my nerves ratchet up yet another notch. He must be more concerned than he let on for him to show this much crack in his composure. 

Mrs. West opens her mouth to speak, and I know exactly what she's going to say before her lips can form the words. _Mrs. Chen tells me dinner is almost ready. We can head into the dining room now._

Any other time and the normality of it would bring a smile to my face. Tonight, however, Mrs. West opens her mouth to speak, and Lucy steps up next to her, effectively silencing her mother with a hand on her arm. 

"Before we move on, I have an announcement I'd like to make."

Her voice is steady and sure. Not a tremble to be had. I'm so proud of her I could kiss her. Her eyes wander our direction again, and I shoot her the broadest smile I can manage. She's got this.

Undoubtedly thrown for a loop with her daughter's outspokenness; nevertheless, Mrs. West is a professional and swiftly hands Lulu the floor.

"Of course, dear." 

Mrs. West steps to the side, the queen, passing the baton to her heir. As reluctant as the heir must be. 

She's shaking. Tiny trembles wrack over her body. Still, her voice is steady when she speaks.

"Since we're all together, I wanted to take this opportunity to tell you that I'm pregnant. Almost eight weeks."

I watch as the realization hits members of the family. Her uncle reacts first, no surprise. Guarded looks at her parents, followed by hesitant smiles at her. She returns it on shaky legs. Angela and Wes keep their faces neutral. Being the children of political

families taught them phenomenal control over their expressions. 

When it worms its way into her mother's brain, she gives a tiny gasp, bringing her fingers to cover her mouth.

All that's left is her father. I can see the war taking place inside of him. It's playing out plain as day over his body. Mr. West is known for his cool and calm exterior. Now though, his face pales then flushes with heat in rapid sequence. I almost step forward to check on him, fearing he may be having a stroke. His hands open and close at his side, his effort to gain control over his extremities blatant.

You'd have thought she'd told them she only had months to live, rather than giving them their first grandchild. 

Exactly as Jackson predicted, the parents look at each other, then around the room, gazing at their audience. Unfortunately for our best-laid plans, Mr. West doesn't seem to give a shit.

"Pregnant? Even you couldn't be so stupid. How could you let this happen?"

His voice is nasty and harsh. If I hadn't seen the words leave his mouth, I wouldn't have recognized it as his.

Jackson steps forward but halts looking between us, unsure how to intercede best. We're here to make the situation better. I'm not sure telling the family that he and I have known for close to a month already would do that. Well, he has anyway. I've known about half that length.

Her deep inhale quivers with its force, but still, her voice is steady. _Damn_. That woman. A mere mortal would cringe at the looks being thrown her way. Not my Lulu.

"I didn't _let_ this happen, Daddy. It has. I'm not going to apologize, and I'm not going to say I regret it. However, it came to be, I am having a baby, and you are going to be grandparents."

It's a smart move, reminding them of the Grandparent thing. Nothing is more important to her father than the legacy he leaves behind. Dotting Grandpa would be a look the voters would eat up. I see the thought click momentarily behind her mother's gaze, but her father is on a roll. Nothing as simplistic as impeding grandfatherhood is going to slow him down now. 

"You moron. You stupid little slut. Do you have any idea what the voters are going to think about Jackson's family, having an unmarried pregnant little harlot for a sister? It's an election year! You _know_ if Travers is elected I have a shot of being Secretary of State. How am I going to explain that I have such a loose hold on my own household that I let my daughter get knocked up by some anonymous hood."

"The father," her mother whips like lightning, and Mr. West grasps on to any scrap to keep his anger billowing. 

Jackson strides to his sister's side but stops short from pulling her into his arms. I saw when she dropped her veil. Not so much a mask, but a steel forged double reinforced iron gate. A barrier between her and the nastiness that surrounds her. When she gets like that, it's best to leave her be. Another point of her personality in which her parents and I disagree. They see it as a sign of her smallness. I see it for what it is—an ability to survive. Like a cactus, blooming flowers in the harshest of environments.

I watch as she builds her fortifications, and blinding white-hot anger licks up my spine. I'm not a violent man, but right now, I'd pay Sheriff Nolan a hundred bucks to lock David West and me in a cell for ten minutes and look the other way. 

"Who's the father, Lucy?"

Five minutes. Hell, I'd only need one.

Fear flashes in her eyes, and I take a step forward without realizing it. Her gaze flickers between Jackson and me, but she remains silent. Lifting her chin in defiance instead of answering the question. What can she say? Nothing at this point can salvage the situation. 

"Who's the bastard's father, Lucy Elizabeth West."

She flinches. At the callus use of her full name or the malicious term for her child, I have no way of knowing. Adrenaline floods my nervous system, and the only thought left in my brain is getting Lucy as far away from that asshole as possible. There's only one way. As far as David West is concerned, Lucy still belongs to him. He's a deep southern boy, and property laws are something that he holds near and dear to his heart. Lucy is his property to treat as he wills—until she's not. 

Well then.

"I am. I'm the father. The baby's mine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know anybody's middle names, so I made it up. If you know it, let me know, and I can update it. Also, I FINALLY figured out how to imbed pictures in my fics!!! Bring on the mood boards lol. I was always so jealous that all the Reylos have them.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments feed my soul!


	3. Back to reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim to make their escape

Chapter Three

Tim

  
  


_ Back to reality, if that's what they're calling this _

  
  
  


"Tim," Jackson snaps, bringing my attention from their father to where he's crouched in front of Lucy.

She's drawn and pale, a far cry from the glowing mother-to-be I witnessed not even an hour ago. Panic swells inside me, and I shove David out of my way rather than waste the seconds to walk around him. 

Dropping to one knee in front of her, I cup her face in my hands. She's pallid, and her skin is clammy to the touch. Running my thumb across her cheek, I run the fingers of my other hand through her hair, smoothing it away from her face. 

"Lulu," I say, and I hope she can't hear the tremble in my voice. Using a smidgen more force with my fingers, I take her heart rate. Tachy, over a hundred beats per minute, but strong and steady despite the fact. No surprise her heart is pounding. Her father and I almost came to blows, I steamrolled over her pregnancy announcement, and her closest relatives are screaming like banshees over her unborn child. Classless. We're all a bunch of assholes. Her heart skips a beat under my fingertips, and it causes my heart to clench in turn.

"What's wrong princess, tell me what hurts?"

Her gaze locks with my own, and her eyes spellbind me. She looks lost. Scared.  _ Hopeful _ ? Goosebumps break out under my touch, and the desire to turn around and punch her father almost overwhelms me again. All I wanted to do was help her, and instead, I've made the situation a hundred times worse.

I don't know what came over me—a culmination of a decade's long puppy crush melding with an ill-timed case of white knight syndrome. 

I see her shields raise around her at the same time I remember we have an audience. She breaks our stare, and my eyes drop to her lips. She's silently forming words, and I'm trying to make them out when her father speaks from behind me. 

"So son, before I call your parents, tell me; are you going to do the right thing here and marry my daughter?"

Her eyes flick back to mine, and panic flashes over her features. If I thought she was bloodless before, she's almost a ghost now. Marry her? What a pointless question. I knew I'd do anything for this girl when I was nineteen and watched as her heart broke for the first time.

"Yes, sir, if she'll have me."

She jerks, and for a moment, I'm afraid she's trying to make a break for it, not that I blame her. Lucy grips the side of the chair like her life depends on it and flings her body over the side, hurling her stomach contents into the plant sitting next to us. Immediately I reach for her, wrapping her hair in my hands, ensuring she stays clean while she empties her belly. I hear a commotion in the background, but I have no attention for anything other than Lulu. 

"Let it out, princess. That's my girl." I rub firm circles into her back, trying to hit any pressure points I can remember from my textbooks.

Her heaves dry out, but still, her stomach clenches and releases, causing her to retch every few seconds anyhow. It's the only outlet available to it to get rid of all the stress that's piled on her the previous forty-five minutes. Hell, the last twenty-nine years.

When she slows to a stop, I move out of the way so she can collapse back onto her seat. Sweat coats her brow, and while there's color back in her face, she looks green around the edges. Squigly, like whoever colored her in did so outside the lines.

I raise from my crouch, my thighs starting to feel the burn, and place my hand on her shoulder, pushing her hair behind her ear. Leaning down so only she can hear me, I whisper, "are you alright?"

She nods, her lips drawn over her teeth, and her eyes closed tight. 

"Want to get out of here?"

Nod.

I don't hesitate, don't stop to think about my actions. I can't make anything worse than I have now, can I? I lean down, placing one arm under her knees and the other around her back, scoop her from the chair, and into my arms. I expected—I don't know what I expected. Lucy doesn't like to be touched. I envisioned her putting up a fight, some sound of protest. I didn't anticipate her wrapping her arms around my neck and burying her head in my shoulder. 

I think I've touched her tonight more than the last twenty years combined.

We make our way out of the room, and I feel Jackson fall into place beside me. Mr. West looks like he's going to protest, but Jackson's husband puts his hand on David’s arm, and he falls back, letting us pass.

You don't realize how vast space is until you're carrying a damsel in distress through its hallways. The staff, silent but always watching, meet us at the front door, holding it open.

I hesitate at the top of the front walkway, gazing out at the circular parking area. We all drove here alone. There's no way I'm letting Lucy drive home, though. I have a GT Ford Mustang, manual transmission. Even if she's not feeling ill anymore, no matter how smooth a shifter I am, the jerking of the gears won't make her stomach feel any better. Making up my mind, I head over to her car, gently lowering her to the ground on the passenger side. 

Letting my hands roam across her face again, I ask her, "do you still have a go-bag?" When we were kids, they always made sure they had an overnight bag packed in case the family got pulled into an unexpected overnight trip. As I got closer to the family, I started keeping one ready as well. I never knew when I'd get to tag along.

She lets out a sluggish breath, then sighs, "yeah," nodding like she's drunk. 

"Keys," I quietly demand and am surprised when Jackson hands them to me instead. Turning to her brother, I see he has her purse in his hands.  _ Of course. _ Why didn't I think of that? 

Tipping my chin in the direction of the deep blue mustang parked a few cars down, I take my keys out of my pocket and hand them to Jackson, trading them for her pocketbook. 

"Head to her place and get her overnight bag, will ya? I'll take her home with me. I don't want anyone ambushing her tonight when she's not expecting it. Sterling can pick you up from my house."

His eyebrows lift in question, but he nods his acquiescence and turns towards my car. I hit the unlock button to Lucy's BMW, then reach around her to open the door. It's then that I realize we're holding hands. I step into her space and place a kiss on her forehead, then help her into the car. We probably have an audience anyway. Might as well put on a show. The desire to look back at the house is overwhelming, but I resist and hurry to the driver's side.

"Hey, Jackson!"

He pauses in the process of folding himself into the driver's seat.

"Be careful with my car, dude."

He chuckles, giving me an ironic smile.

"Be careful with my sister."

His expression never changed, but his words are lined with lead.

Giving him my best salute, I slide into the seat and slam the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading with me today! If you like what you read, follow me at
> 
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> Tumblr: Motherof4Dragons


	4. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim takes Lucy Home

Chapter Four

Tim

  
  


I live on the other side of town. We're not a large metropolis by any means, but we've grown a lot over the last decade. In the center is a hospital, newly built and state of the art, with the standard stores like Walmart and Target. We don't have a building taller than four stories, and while we have too many street lights to count now, thirty years ago, we were a one-stop sign community. The only reason they had _that_ was because traffic getting in and out of the Dairy Queen was causing too many delays. Or so I've been told. There are three grocery stores to choose from, Walmart combined. 

Most people live in the thirty square miles outside of the epicenter, myself included. While we're a small town, population-wise, we're spread out pretty wide. It's a forty-five-minute drive from her parents home to mine. All of the West's live on the west side of Blue Ridge. All except Lulu. Ironically enough, she lives ten minutes from me.

I make it through downtown and back into the outskirts before my phone rings. I've been waiting for it. I put my earbud in for just this reason. 

"Hey mom," I answer the call, without bothering to check the caller id.

"Hey, honey. Hi, son," my parents reply on speaker, sounding amused more than anything else. I don't prompt or ask what's up. There's only one reason they're calling me tonight.

My mother clears her throat before continuing.

"So, we just had an interesting phone call from David and Barbara."

I imagine they did.

"Oh?"

I can almost hear their irritation levels rise at my aloofness. My dad takes over.

"Son, is there anything you want to tell us? You know we love you. We're proud of you, no matter what decisions you make."

See! _That's_ what I'm talking about. My chest swells with affection for my parents, and that stokes the fire of rage I have burning for Lucy's.

"I know, guys. I also know that West probably lit into you pretty hard tonight. I'm sorry about that. In answer to your question, I don't know yet. Do you trust me?"

They chorus, _of course,_ before I even finish asking the question.

"I'll see you tomorrow at work, Mom. We can talk then. But don't worry. I've got this."

"We're not worried, son. _Intrigued_ more like. I'd bet money you haven't taken little Lucy to bed, _yet_ —." 

Oh God, a shudder runs through me at the thought of my parents discussing my sex life. My mother is a pediatrician, like myself. I joined her practice when I finished medical school. My father was a lawyer—retired now. For all that, though, they're hippies at heart. Worrying about whether their children are getting laid on the regular is just common courtesy in their eyes. My mother is still talking.

"—You know how badly we want grandchildren. If you want to provide us with a few, I'm not picky about how that happens."

I'm pulling into my driveway, but let the car idle when I put it in park. Lucy's head never left the window, though I'm sure she's listening to every word I say.

"You know, I've wondered how often Tanya get's the _I want Grandkids_ spiel." Tanya is my sister. Gay, she and her wife have _no_ desire to procreate. They work boring jobs nine months out of the year, living like college students so that they can travel the remaining three. 

My dad snorts, which brings a smile to my face, but my mother responds to my rhetorical question. 

"Not as often as you, I admit. They've thrown around the idea of adopting a dog though, which we'd get custody of while they're overseas. So that's something to look forward to."

I can't help it. I laugh. Leave it to my parents to equate unpaid dog sitting as grandparent duty.

"Okay. I've got to go. We're home. I love you guys. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

" _We're_ home," my father parrots, with much too much enthusiasm in his voice. I disconnect the call before they can get themselves worked up any further. 

I drop my earbud back into its case, then put both phone and case into my suit jacket. We sit in silence for several minutes, and the only sound is the radio lightly playing an old eighties love song. I'm starting to think she's fallen asleep when she speaks.

"Thank you."

It's gentle but sincere in its tenacity. For the first time tonight, I consider that maybe I haven't ruined Lucy's life. 

"You're welcome."

When she reaches for her buckle, I open the car door and get out.

  
  
  


*****

  
  


Jackson shows up ten minutes later. He knocks, then lets himself in without waiting for me to answer it. 

He ditched his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, but that's the only sign that he didn't just step out of the Governor's office. His hair is still perfectly styled, his calm facade perfectly in place. He has a lilac duffel bag in one hand and a Burberry briefcase in the other.

He lifts them both in answer to the question I didn't ask. 

"I didn't know if she'd need her work stuff this weekend, so I brought it just in case. I added more to her bag too."

"Thanks. Just put them in the guest room, would you? Want a beer?"

"Desperately, but just one. Sterling's on his way here. Where's Lucy?"

"She's starting a bath."

Without another word, he heads into the back part of the house, dropping my keys as he goes. It's not massive. Not compared to what they're used to. It's built untraditionally, though. Instead of the usual three bedrooms two bath ranch style you find in these parts, it has two master bedrooms, each with their own ensuites. There's a half bath off of the kitchen. It's too small to sneeze in but has a toilet and sink.

I pull two beers from the fridge, using the bottle opener magnet to pop the lids off. Without bothering to shut the door, I down three-fourths of the first beer in one go. I changed out of my work clothes, replacing them with jeans and a Braves shirt. When I'm satisfied I'm not going to get a head rush, I chug the remaining liquid and toss it into the recycling container. I pull another out, then let the door drift close, stopping the constant beeping warning me the door's been open too long.

I pop the top of the third and carry both into the living room. It's another minute before Jackson reappears. He sits on the chair across from me, placing his feet on the coffee table along with mine.

"So," he says, encompassing everything and nothing all at once.

"So," I agree. What else can I say?

We sit in companionable silence for a few minutes more, bringing the bottle up and down from our lips, before he ventures back into the conversation.

"I understand what you did tonight. I even understand why. But it's not going to help the situation. You know that right? As soon as they find out, tomorrow or the next day, it's only going to set them off again. Worse, even."

"That's something I need to discuss with your sister," I say, putting my feet flat on the floor. He mimics me, placing his almost empty beer on the table.

"Discuss with my sister," he grumbles, and disgust drips from his lips. He drags his fingers through his hair, and stress and frustration coat his face. Finally, a crack is appearing in the perfect persona he shows to the world. I remember when we used to sneak joints in the back gazebo of his parent's guest house. Those days are long gone. 

"Jesus Tim, you can't actually marry her. You get that? Cause I'm not sure that you do."

I shove up from the couch, hovering over Jackson with aggression in my stance. 

"Something happened tonight, and I _can_ not and _will_ not go back. When I heard your asshole of a father refer to her child as a bastard? Goddammit, Jackson. If I could somehow ensure that your father never spoke to her again, we'd be in Vegas by the morning and consummate in front of the Pope if need be."

Anger flashes in my bones anew, and I take another step closer.

"Isn't this why you wanted me there tonight? To protect your baby sister? God knows you aren't going to do it. You didn't do _anything_ tonight. He called Lucy a _whore_ , Jackson, and you just stood there, letting it happen." 

My voice has raised until I'm practically screaming in Jackson's face. The tendons in his neck are jutting out. I can see the pressure building in his head, waiting to burst into heat and flames.

My front door opens, and Sterling walks in, paying no attention to the hostility radiating between his husband and me. He kicks off his shoes, not bothering to watch where they land, and heads straight for the guest room, shutting the door behind him.

It was the distraction I needed, and I pace several steps away from Jackson, gulping air. When oxygen doesn't cut it, I tip the rest of my beer past my lips, and relax slightly when I catch Jackson doing the same.

Before he has a chance to respond to my tirade, I cut him off, trying to make sure that I'm calm and level in my tone.

"Look. The truth of the matter is no matter what happens from here on out, there are only three people," at the twerk of his eyebrow, I amend myself, "four people who know the truth of that baby's paternity. Five, if you count the douche, which I guess we have to. I need to talk to Lucy. This is between me and her. But I'm not going to be the one who says that baby isn't mine. Are you?"

He hesitates, and something tight and painful pulls at my gut, before he quietly responds with, "no."

"I sure as fuck won't, and we all know I can keep a secret. After all, I never told you I knew you slept with that sorority slut senior year."

Sterling walks calmly back into the living room, and Jackson jumps so violently in his seat I'm afraid he's pulled something. 

"Fuck, Sterling. Warn a guy next time."

Ignoring his husband, he strides to me and envelopes me in a hug. 

"She'll be out soon," he whispers next to my ear. I tighten my hold to just this side of eyeball popping before finally letting him go. He bends over with some weird half-man walk, scooping his shoes up off the floor.

"Come on, old man. Let's go home."

He reaches his hands to his husband, and Jackson takes them gladly, letting him pull him to his feet. 

"Call me tomorrow," Jackson asks.

"Of course," I reply, hoping he can hear the apology in my voice. 

His shoulders loosen, letting some of the anger and tension deflate out of him, and then nods, letting his husband lead him from the house. 

Then there were two.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	5. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Lucy talk it out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't feel so hot today, so to make myself feel better, here's another chapter!

Chapter Five

Lucy

  
  
  


Okay, so, tonight got away from me. I think we can agree on that. Best laid plans and all. I contemplated how my meeting with my parents would go a thousand different times. Never, though, in all my deliberation, did I envision ending the night in Tim's bathtub.

I'd already decided that I was never leaving this room again. I was going to have the baby in this room, prepare it for a life of independence, grow old and die, right from this spot. If you could die from mortification, and I'm about 50/50 hoping you can, I shouldn't live much longer anyway.

Sterling, however, convinced me that it may not be the soundest plan I've ever thought up. I'll have to take his word for it. I think the last eight weeks have proven my decision-making skills aren't what they used to be. 

It's the smell of bacon that finally pulls me from the cave. I know I swore to never look Tim in the eyes again, but the man knows me well. I'd do practically anything for bacon.

He's standing at the stove, barefoot. I've always had a thing for him barefoot. I don't have a foot fetish. At least, I don't  _ think _ I do—just him. 

There's a water bottle half empty beside him, and another sitting at the kitchen table in the small dining area off to the side. His floor plan is set up like an over large apartment. I like it. It gives the place a homey lived-in vibe. 

I sit at the table, pulling my leg up and resting my chin on it, encircling the water bottle with my hands.

“Are you hungry,” he asks.  _ Ummmm, duh. I’m pregnant.  _ Instead I reply, “I could eat if you’re offering.” 

He peeks at me over his shoulder, and I swear he knows what’s going on in my head. He’s a doctor after all, even if he works with children. I might as well share my eternal shame.

“I’m always hungry these days.  _ Always _ . Even when the smell of food makes me want to puke, which is often, I admit, underneath it all my stomach is rumbling.”

An easy smile crosses his face. “One of the mothers told me once that she used to eat mashed potatoes just so she had something to throw up again.”

_ Ugh. _ “Oh, God, please stop talking. Just the thought makes me want to yak.”

He laughs good naturedly while flipping the bacon in his pan. Reaching into the fridge, he pulls out a carton of eggs.

"How do you want them," he asks, pulling another skillet out from the cupboard. 

"Cheesy scrambled? In a sandwich?" My mouth waters as I ask.

He nods once, then sets about making our food.

It's weird, being in his home without Jackson. My anxiety is starting to rise, and I excuse myself from the kitchen table to walk the few feet to the living room. Any other time and place, and I'd remove myself from the social situation altogether, going home to calm my nerves. But I don't think that's an option tonight. 

Besides, Tim is one of the few people who know the extent of my eccentricities. For the most part. He won't bat an eye at my odd behavior. 

Moving from the table, I settle on the floor of the living room, sitting cross legged with my back against the couch. Years of practice find my spine straight and my palms open on my knees. I stop and wonder, in that remote, distant way I've thought of everything regarding this pregnancy, how much longer I'll be able to sit like this. Then I push that thought, along with a hundred thousand others, back into the recesses of my mind.

One of my first therapists recommended meditation and yoga to me as a child. My parents don’t believe in therapy. Outwardly, they preach about the importance of mental health. That’s for everyone else though. In a West, therapy and mood disorders are simply a sign of weakness. 

It didn’t matter though. I had an episode in seventh grade when a boy tried to touch me. It was innocent, on his part. He wasn’t forcing himself on me or trying to hurt me. He just grabbed my arm as I walked by, trying to slow me down so we could talk. I had a panic attack in the hallway. The school wouldn’t let me back until I’d been seen by a doctor. When my parents refused medication, mindfulness was offered as an alternative. I love it.

I clear my thoughts of everything, even my nothingness is gone. Instead, I concentrate as I relax the tension in my body, limb by limb. It’s soothing, grounding, and I sit that way until Tim silently slides a plate onto the table in front of me. He doesn’t say a word, content to let me be. My stomach lurches though, in a combination of hunger and sickness, and I end my meditation to stuff my face instead. 

The sandwich is divine, bacon crispy, but not burnt. The eggs are fluffy, with enough cheese to taste but not to overwhelm, and salt and pepper burst on my palate with every bite. I concentrate on my eating. It's a delicate dance these days—making sure I eat in such a way that doesn't make me sick. I'd say my ratio is 70/30. 

It doesn't take long before Tim breaks the silence, though.

I watch covertly as he raises his bottle to his lips before he says, "we haven't really gotten the chance to talk about things."

I can't help the sardonic smile that graces my face. He has the decency to chuckle, but powers on.

"Not about tonight, but about things in general. How are you handling it,  _ really _ ? The pregnancy, I mean."

I take another bite of my sandwich, more to give myself a chance to get my thoughts in order.  _ How am I doing? _ About as well as can be expected, I suppose.

"I freaked out at first. I’m still freaking out if I'm honest. Lots of time with my therapist."

He nods in understanding, no judgment on his features. 

"You're a careful person by nature. I'm sure, no offense, that this wasn't part of your five-year plan."

Ah, the five-year plan. The man does know me well.

"Yeah, not exactly. I'm not sure how much Jackson told you. I'm on, well,  _ was _ on the pill. I took it religiously, never missed a dose."

"Let me guess, UTI," he muses, a playful look in his eyes.

"Sinus infection, actually."

"Amoxicillin, the ruiner of best-laid plans."

I want to laugh, but the tension of the past month is building in my chest again. Tim doesn't need to know the details. It doesn't paint me in the best light. But somehow, I want him to understand what a hot mess I truly am. He put himself out there for me tonight. He needs to realize now the mistake he's made before we get in too deep.

"I had an arrangement with a gentleman from out of town. He'd text me whenever he was around, every few weeks or so, and we'd get together. We'd meet at Lula's. I'd arrive first, have a drink or two to loosen up. You know how well I handle interpersonal relations. We'd walk the block to the hotel, do our, ummm,  _ business, _ and I'd be on my way. The last time, we didn't use a condom. No biggie, I thought. I'm on the pill.

"When I missed my period two weeks later, I called. No one answered. He never responded to my texts. I used my,  _ hmmm _ , resources, and traced the number I had for him, only to find out it was a burner. Jake Smith doesn't exist."

Anger covers his features. His eyes bulge, and his body leans forward in the seat, his hands clenching in his lap.

I mentally prepare myself for the berating to come. It's no less than I deserve—the loss of his friendship and the offer of his protection. My father was right—I am a stupid little slut, and I deserve everything that comes to me.

I sit up straighter and let steel line my spine. I may be the weakest of the heard, but I'm still a West. I can take it.

"Did Jackson use his person thingy to look for him?"

_ Person Thingy. _ I love it.

"The investigator on staff? Yes."

He takes a deep breath, and then another, before he says, "If that man ever shows up again, I'll kill him. I'll kill him with my bare hands."

_ That _ —was  _ not _ the response I was expecting.

"Aren't you angry with me?"

He looks bewildered. "Why would I possibly be upset with  _ you? _ "

"Because I was irresponsible and reckless to start with."

I feel his scoff of disgust down to my toes.

"No.  _ That _ is your father speaking. You put your trust in a man, as every woman should have the right to do, and he betrayed you. In the worst possible way. This is in no way your fault."

_ Isn't it, though? _

"I should have insisted he used a condom. We could have gone and got some."

He shrugs, in a move that totally encompasses how he feels about that.

"Yeah, okay. You should have used a condom. I'm well aware that it only takes once. Then you have the other side of that equation, where doctors tell millions of women every year that 'these things take time.' So, I think that it was a reasonable assumption to discount pregnancy while on the pill from one encounter without a condom.

"Either way, you should have been able to count on your partner to hold up his end of the bargain. Every time a man sticks his cock in a woman, he signs a universal contract saying he's aware of his actions. It's as simple as that. Invisible man didn't hold up his end of the bargain."

I don't know if I want to blush or blanch at hearing him say cock, but surprisingly enough, it does make me feel better—a little.

"So," I say, giving my shoulders a little shrug, "that's how that happened."

I take another bite of my sandwich, then quickly spit it back out. I've reached the point of no return for food, apparently.

I can hear him thinking.

"Ask it. I know you want to."

"Okay, I will. You didn't think about termination, knowing the way your family would react?"

I lean back on the couch, pulling my feet cross-legged into my lap. I know it's odd, but the pose brings me peace, even when I'm not meditating.

"I did. I'm not ashamed to admit it. Our parents are right-winged traditionalists, but I'm not. I can't be doing the job that I do. So yeah, I thought about it. I thought about it hard. I even had an appointment scheduled in Atlanta, under a different name. But then I thought about the job that I have. Most of my families are kind, honest, hard-working parents who are in situations that are out of their control, and need extra help. I get called in when a kid comes to class in too small filthy clothes and the administration fears they are being abused. When I get to the home, though, I see that they aren't being abused but can't afford clean clothes. They aren't being paid attention to the way they need it, because a single mom of three is working two jobs.

"My situation is not ideal, yeah, but I could provide a good home for this baby. Between my income, which isn't great but isn't minimum wage by any means, and the trust fund my grandfather left for me, I can afford to give a child everything they need with love to spare. 

"I realized that it wasn't fair to myself to let outside forces make this decision for me. Besides," and here's the awful truth of the Timer, "I don't make friends easily. Dating is hard. That's why, well, I was doing what I was doing. I thought I was playing it safe. I don't tolerate social settings easily. Not that I can't, of course. I just prefer not to. Who knows when,  _ if,  _ I'd ever get the chance to be a mother again."

"You'll make an amazing mom Lulu. Hell, you already are. That baby isn't even born yet, and you're already fighting for it."

I can't help the tears that well in my eyes, and I sneak a sniffle when I wipe them away.

"So, let's talk about us."

" _ Us _ ," I squeak and try to ignore the tremble in my voice. 

He moves to the edge of his seat, rotating his shoulders in the process. He seems tense and unsure of himself. It's not a look I recognize on him.

"I want to apologize. I know I stepped out of line. I had no right whatsoever to say the things I did at your parent's place. To say what I did to your father."

My mouth dries like the Sahara, and it feels like ants are crawling on my skin. I'm not sure what I'm expecting. I'm so far out of my comfort zone. I know, though, that I don't want him apologizing.  _ I  _ should be the one apologizing. He should never have been there, to begin with. The whole thing was a screw-up, despite how well I thought I planned it.

He seems to sense my burgeoning panic. He moves from the chair to sit next to me on the couch. The movement begins to overwhelm me, but he takes my hand into both of his, hesitantly, and amazingly, my pulse begins to slow. I can almost see the blue surrounding his aura.

"Don't get me wrong, Lulu. I meant every word of it.  _ Every _ word. I just meant—well, I shouldn't have threatened your father for one."

_ Excuse me? _ Maybe I should have been paying more attention. I would have loved to have borne witness to Tim, threatening daddy.

"What did you say to him," I ask, with wonder in my voice.

"You didn't hear? I thought that maybe that was why you got sick." At my expression, he adds, "You know, besides the whole pregnancy thing. I didn't behave very gentlemanly there for a few minutes."

He looks genuinely abashed at whatever he said, and now I'm desperate to know what went on while I was busy freaking out. 

"Now, I  _ have _ to know what you said."

"Some other time, maybe." He clears his throat, and an honest to goodness blush creeps onto his cheeks. He couldn't be more adorable if he tried. A sensation from my hand grabs my attention, and I glance down to see he's entwined our fingers, and his thumb is running across my wrist. It's making it hard for me to concentrate. It's my turn to clear my throat.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Tim.  _ Nothing.  _ Your behaviour was honor personified. I'm just sorry, again, that you had to be there at all."

"Stop. I'm tired of the apologies. I don't want to hear them, and you don't need to give them. But we should talk about you and the baby," he hesitates for a heartbeat, "and us."

There's that word again.  _ Us. _

There is a sea of blue, as far as the eyes can see. I am calm, and safe, and maybe freaking out.

"Okay."

"I'm a doctor."

"Really, I hadn't noticed."

I was hoping for a smile, and I get one, but it's at half his usual wattage.

"I own my own home. You know my parents, my sister. I've loved you since you were a little girl." I audibly gasp at that, and he continues on, "come on, Lulu, you love me too, you know it," and he bops me on the shoulder with his. 

_ Yeah, I love you _ . He looks flustered, but something passes through his eyes. 

"What I'm trying to say here is that I am in—one hundred percent. I know you didn't ask me, and I'm basically forcing myself on you. But if you want this, I do too. Like, I  _ really _ want it."

It.  _ It? _

"I don't understand." I don't. I honestly don't. 

"Let me help you raise this baby. Let it be mine. We can live here, or buy a new house. Actually, we'd need a bigger house. Two rooms just won't cut it. We need a nursery and you need an office. We can find one that has two masters again. We can get married. It'll get your parents off your back. Hell, mine too. You heard them in the car. They are desperate enough for a grandchild they may consider stealing one. Though, I guess, that's kind of what I'm doing now."

His face has this dawning awe like expression on it, and I can't help it, I laugh out loud. The emotion frees something inside of me, and suddenly I am beside myself with laughter. Tim starts up too, unsure at first, then letting big belly laughs echo into the room. Tears are streaming down my face, and I lift our still joined hands to help wipe the moisture from my eyes.

"Marry me," he says, and there's so much joy in his voice. 

Marry him, he says. Like he hasn't just fulfilled my deepest darkest fantasy, albeit certainly not the way I dreamed of as a child. 

"Marry me," he says again, and now there's a pleading tone to his voice. Like he isn't just doing this out of some warped sense of responsibility. As if he isn't saving me from a lifetime of hurt and embarrassment from my family. As though he  _ wanted  _ to do this. Marry him.

It's crazy. Ridiculous. I am a planner. I think things through to their most logical outcome, then repeat the process a hundred different ways.  _ This  _ is not a plan that I see ending well. At all. Still, though. Maybe, just this once, it will all be okay. I forget about my parents and their expectations for me. I forget about the world and my reputation. I forget about my neuroticism, and how terribly bad this could go for me if it all goes wrong. All I think about is his smile, right now, and how good my hand feels in his. Can I do this?

"Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading with me today! If you like what you read, follow me at
> 
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	6. Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a tease to tide us over.

_ The New York Times _   
  


_ After a week of tabloid speculation and undocumented headlines, a representative for Vice President West confirmed the impending marriage of his youngest daughter. _

_ “Vice President West (R) and his wife Barbara are proud to announce the engagement of their daughter Lucy Elizabeth West to Dr. Timothy Bradford, son of Dr. Laura Bradford and Mr. Franklin Bradford, LLD. They are also overjoyed to announce the pending arrival of their first grandchild. While they are humbled and overwhelmed at the mass of support the couple is receiving, no official plans are being released at this time.” _

_ The West’s are one of the nation's strongest political families. Jackson West (R) is running for the state of Georgia House of Representatives, while former VP West is said to be the top candidate for Secretary of State if Senator Travers (R) wins the election this November. Lucy, the youngest of the West children, has largely remained out of the spotlight. She works as a social worker in the Wests’ hometown of Walnut Grove, Georgia. Little is known about the couple. At this time there is nothing but supposition about the date of the wedding, or the expected due date of their child.  _

_ Rebecca Morrison _

_ Blog, lifestyles _


	7. The Announcement Prt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short but sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay and the short chapter. I came down with the rono lol. But I'm getting better, and wanted to get this out. I'll have a more substantial chapter at my next update next week :)

Chapter  
Tim

“Did you see the newspaper? You guys made the front page of both the AJC and the Blue Ridge Chronicles.”

My mother is positively glowing as she strides into the kitchen at the office, dropping the papers onto the table. My parents are alternating between thinking this whole thing is hilarious, to planning which room in their house they are going to turn into a nursery. No, I’m not kidding.

They don’t know, know that the baby isn’t mine. But they know me. Which is why I think my mother is getting so much enjoyment out of my name being in every paper in the nation this week.

Sure enough, the staged photo of Lulu and I take up the whole top part of the local paper. I scan through some of the paragraphs. Not only do they have the press release used by the national media, they have interviews with local residents. Even one of my patients gave a comment. Spectacular.

The AJC is simply the press release, with comments that no one knows anything else about us. Good. That’s the way Jackson wants to keep it.

Lucy’s fourteen weeks today, so we gave her parent’s the okay to release the news to the press. If they had their way, we’d be having a royal worthy wedding a week from now. We put our foot down though. I meant what I said to Jackson. I’d marry her tomorrow if I thought it would help. It wouldn’t though. A lavish, quick, wedding might make her parents happy, but it would twist Lulu all up in knots, and that’s not okay with me.

“We knew it would be a big deal up here. Hell, David wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s throwing some bash next weekend to celebrate. Like a month ago he wasn’t ready to disown his daughter and fake her death.” I close my eyes and inhale, trying to expel my lingering disgust for Lucy’s old man. It’s hard. I won’t deny it. Her parent’s have been a combination of sickly sweet and dictatorial trying to manipulate Lulu into doing what they want. I’ve told them that I don’t want them seeing her without me there anymore. She’ll never again be hurt at their hands if I can help it.

“What time is her appointment today?”

My mom pulls me from my fantasies of disembowelment and makes me concentrate on life, instead of taking it.

“Eleven. Then afterwards, we’ll get some lunch.”

Lulu has a doctors appointment today, and it’s a big one—the first anatomy scan. They usually do it between twelve and thirteen weeks, but her schedule got thrown off because of work. A home visit turned into an all day event, and she couldn’t get away.

“She’s using Moore, so she’ll come here first.” Dr. Moore is in the same building as our practice.

“Make sure you let up front know not to bother her. You know how broken-hearted they all are still.”

I can’t help my eye roll at the statement. Picking up my coffee, I give my mom a swift kiss on the cheek before I head out to get my day started. We made the announcement locally a few weeks ago. Not that we were engaged, but that we were together. Surprisingly, no one really batted an eye. Most people said they’d suspected something all along. I’m not sure what that says about the moon eyes I must have been giving her since we were teenagers, but at least it kept the questions about our surprise pregnancy and engagement to a minimum.

Most of the comments were that it finally made sense why we never dated other people. Or that now they don’t feel so bad about when I blew women off. It’s not that I didn’t date. I just didn’t play around. I’ve never been one of those guys that wanted to see how many women he could bang. Blame it on my parents.

Taking mom's advice, I mosey to the front of the office where kids and their parent’s are already starting to congregate. Winking at the little girl walking behind her mom to get weighed, I head into the reception area.

“Good morning ladies,” I say, smiling at our office gals sitting at the tables, and sitting on the edge of a desk. I have no idea what they do up here, only that I couldn’t do my job without them. That’s not true. I do know exactly what they do. Which is how I know how much we need them.

“I wanted to warn you that Lucy’s stopping by this morning before we go to her scan. She’ll be here before eleven. Be nice to her. Be nice to me. Please don’t scare her off. I’m planning to spend the rest of my life with this woman. We can’t be letting her know what a mess I am until the marriage licence has been filed.”

Laughter fills the area, and Rachel puts her hand on my arm, giving it a squeeze. She’s one of the ones that asked questions. Lots and lots of questions. I glance down where her fire engine red nails are lightly digging into my coat sleeve, but don’t say anything about it.

“Don’t worry Dr. Tim, she’ll only hear good things from us.” That’s Amber, always a paragon of support.

“Yeah Tim. We’ll just ask her about the wedding!” Rachel, with another dig of nails. Thanks for the warning mom. I stand, putting me out of reach of the brunette.

“No no. No wedding talk. We’re in no rush. Like I said, rest of my life. She doesn’t need the burden of planning a wedding while prepping for a baby. Just, be gentle with her. Okay loves?”

Amber went to school with Lulu. She gives me a knowing smile. I let my eyes slide quickly to Rachel and back, quietly asking Amber to help keep Rachel in check. She smiles and nods, promising with a glance that she has it all in hand. I know she does. Like I said—I couldn't do it without her.

*****

I get a text at ten-thirty telling me she’s pulled into the parking lot. Ignoring the way my heart speeds up at three little words, pulling in now, I glance at the three folders I still have in front of me. We’ve gone digital, or as digital as a pediatrician's office can go, but I still have to update my charts electronically after every appointment. I didn’t do that this morning, wanting to make sure I saw as many of the same day sick kid visits as I could before leaving my mom to deal with the rest. However, my anal need to finish my paperwork is warring with my intert knowledge that I can’t leave Amber and Lulu to handle Rachel on their own for too long.

It takes me eight minutes, not that I’m counting, before I’m shrugging off my coat and slinging it across the back of my chair. I grab my wallet and my keys from my desk drawer, and head in search of mom.

“I’m out of here,” I say when I pop my head into the exam room. She’s got her stethoscope to the chest of a newborn, and I can’t help but feel a wave of butterflies tickle my insides. I’m going to have one of those in a few months.

Mom seems to be thinking the same thing. “Send me pics of the scan. I can’t wait to see my grandbaby.”

The mom is looking between us and her child with that wide-eyed wonderment tinged with a case of sleep deprivation that most new parents have when we see them.

“Congrats Dr. Tim.”

“Thanks. I’ll text you later mom.”

She nods and lifts her brows in farewell, her attention already on the baby's umbilical stump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://smarturl.it/amandafayebooks  
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> Tumblr: Motherof4Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments feed my soul!


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